Veiled stranger
by oracle2001
Summary: One Ring to rule them all, and one more in the Fellowship to guide them. The Company is chosen and the mysterious lady Mariel is determined to join them. But is there a sinister side to her strange desire? a dedication to all Mary Sues, in grave sincerity
1. The Council

The nine stood, and in one moment had sworn their Allegiance to one another, had pledged their honour to the Quest. They stood solemnly, a strange assortment, and none of them fully aware of the great responsibility they had each taken upon themselves. Two Men, tall and proud – their grey eyes stern and their gaze steady; a Dwarf, quick-tempered and sturdy, two axes at his waist; an Elf, the tallest of the chosen Company, and fair beyond the reason of Men. To guide them had stepped forth the wizard, one of the fabled Istari – old as the land itself and more ancient than even the Elves; and in front of them, more serious than they had ever been in their sheltered lives, four Halfings stood, with no true concept of what they had bound themselves to and quite unaware of the terrible dangers it held.  
  
The envoys from each race stood, and in that moment their fates became one and the same.  
  
"Very well," said Elrond. "You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring."  
  
All around the Council, there was both dread and anticipation – dread knowing that the terror from far away was drawing ever closer, and the anticipation to conquer it: and none felt it so much as the Company.  
  
Elrond looked grave; the Company was decided. "You shall depart when those who are departed from my house return, and bring news of what lies in the east."  
  
There was silent recognition; yet even as he spoke, a movement came from the seated circle. A beautiful Elven maiden came forwards and stepped before the Fellowship so that she might address the Council. All those present stared in awe at her – they had not been aware of her before: she had appeared as a dream, yet when they turned to see from where she had come, there stood a chair, solitary and vacant, set back slightly from the others. It would seem she had indeed been present as a member of the council, yet no one remembered her coming, nor found her face in their memories from the last few hours.  
  
She came before them, and there fell a silence all around, still as the stone of the floor, soundless as the night. She was beautiful beyond the imagination of any, flawless as the Valar themselves. Her skin was unblemished, and white as the palest ivory – so complete it appeared, a stone-mason might have carved her from stone: except that no stone was pure enough, no tool nor mason with the skill to model such perfection. Her eyes were of the deepest blue, and set with such profoundness that none could hold her gaze for more than two seconds. The stars seemed to have been born in those eyes, softer than the darkest night and deeper than all eternity; from the fathoms of blue great tales arose, and a knowledge so ancient it seemed impossible for one mind to contain it. Her hair fell down her back – long and thick, and darker than all the bark of Mirkwood. Her frame was slender, slim as a willow-wand: yet still she stood tall and proud – stern as Men of Gondor and commanding, though she had not yet spoken. Her manner was graceful and swift, but still there was a power in her that silenced the words of the bravest man; she wore a dress of the simple beauty that only those of Elven kind could weave, and a silver crown was on her head.  
  
She stood before them, and awe was in the Company, and in all those around.  
  
"Greetings," she said, and her voice was clear as the morning dew. "I am Mairiel, Lady of the Sueth Realm. I come to offer my counsel." She bowed her head graciously, and beyond the flow of her sleeves, her hands were spread before her, as if to give to them her knowledge.  
  
At last someone spoke.  
  
"Forgive us Lady," apologised Elrond," but we had not been aware of your presence. Too busy were we discussing the fate of the mortal earth, and the ring that blackens it."  
  
The strange lady received his explanation with another nod, and a small smile.  
  
"I too have heard of the One Ring," she said. "And I know much about the balance of power that commands the fate of Middle Earth. I come to offer you my guidance. I know much of that which has happened, and also some of what might happen, should certain things occur."  
  
Her startling eyes wandered to the Company, acknowledging each in turn, and lingered a while on one member. He could not hold the strong gaze and turned away, doubt and fear in his eyes.  
  
"And so I say this," she continued. "The peril is too great, even with such a faithful Company. Therefore, I shall assist you, and forsake the ruling of my Realm until peace is restored to Middle Earth, or until the end – whichever it may be – is come. I take my pledge now. I shall aid you, and be the tenth and final member of the Fellowship."  
  
Absolute silence followed these words. Mairiel stood, tall and proud – unwavering in her purpose. The gathered Council were shocked, both admiring and incredulous.  
  
"But…but my Lady," began Elrond. "The path is dangerous, and great things are at stake. It is not for someone of your high blood to undertake such things."  
  
Mairiel turned her knowledgeable gaze upon him. "But," she said softly, "there are those present of blood higher than mine – the purest of all Men – and they are accepted into the Company."  
  
Her eyes strayed to the dark Ranger, who struggled to hold her stare and failed, wilting before her sharp gaze. His proud eyes fell, and she looked away.  
  
"I shall go," she said, and this was not a suggestion with which to argue, but a command. "I shall go, for I know much of what lies in the untold lands of Middle Earth, though it is long since I travelled in many of those dark places, even by my reckoning. In my life I have known the rise and fall of many a proud city, and the promises in many dwellings, and the treachery in areas that lie between and divide the people. In this fair house are many maps, yet should I accompany you shall need none. The ring need not be my concern, yet from this moment forth I make it so; I say again, I shall be the tenth and final member of the Fellowship."  
  
The silence now was one of acceptance. Not one of those present – almost every one of whom had fought in battles of great terror – would object to this fair lady who stood before them. Elrond spoke finally.  
  
"It is decided then. The Fellowship shall be ten. None of you is under any pledge to go with the Ringbearer to the end, although the further you journey, the harder it will be to return. I can offer you no more than my counsel. The fate of Middle Earth is bestowed upon you. Good luck."  
  
He dismissed the council and then turned to the Lady Mariel – but he looked only to find her gone. He went to the chair where she had sat and it was indeed one of his house, but it had a different look since she had sat upon it; and in the place where she had first stepped out, a strangeness hung in the air, as though she carried with her a visible presence, that remained long after she had gone. He went from the room and searched the immediate corridors of the fair Elven halls – but he looked in vain, for no sign of the Lady he found, and it gave him much concern. He said nothing to any other, not even to one of his council, but in him now was a feeling of premonition, though he knew not where it came from. And though he loathed to feel so, he mistrusted the mysterious Lady Mariel and her knowing tidings, and slept uneasily that night: suspicious of recent events and dreading the day when the ten would set out. 


	2. Hidden notes and riders in the dark

Chapter 2 (for Orlis)  
  
  
  
The next day rose fair and clear, the light of climbing sun springing brightly through the leafy foliage of Rivendell. Rays like beams of gold fell down upon the elvish craftsmanship and across the quiet paths. Few were up at this hour, for even though the times would soon be desperate, little could be done by those residing in Elrond's house: unless it was to wait for the return of the scouts from abroad. The dark trees stood like walls throughout the haven, and Rivendell gave the impression of having sprung up from the landscape, as had the forest around it. Sunrays poured into the valley and through open balconies, bathing the ancient stones and collecting like a pool of golden light on the forest floor.  
  
Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, was awake and had been for several hours. Long before the sun had touched the tips of the trees he had arisen, and paced anxiously the length of his room and eventually –when the confines of his chamber would not suffice – the corridors outside. He was loath to admit, even to himself, the doubt that sat heavy on his heart. It was true that counsel was never wholly right one way or another, but never had he given his advice and felt so unsure. The path of the Fellowship would be perilous whatever – that much was true. But he had set the number at nine: one member of the Company to oppose each ringwraith. Yet at the last had come that strange and indecipherable lady – the lady Mariel, of a realm he knew nothing of; bringing ominous tidings and such a profound insight into the situation that it made Elrond – Elven wise and millennia old – dubious. And her desire to join the Company, it had been so demanding, so strong – and none of them had refused. Not one of them sitting at the council felt they could refuse: not even Elrond himself.  
  
And yet she was just a woman. An Elven woman, clearly, and incomparable to any that he had ever seen – even his own fair daughter Arwen Undomiel. But still just a woman.  
  
And so it was that the new morning saw Elrond passing fretfully through the many passages of his house, lost in though and unheeding of all around him. And though he saw it not, the day was nearing noon before another found him thus.  
  
"Lord Elrond! You hide yourself well, for when we found you not in your chamber we searched elsewhere – but it was beyond the mind of any to look in the gardens!"  
  
Elrond looked up, surprised. "Erestor!" he exclaimed, greeting the dark haired elf, "forgive me, for I did not realise my absence would cause such trouble."  
  
The chief counsellor laughed. "No," he said, "nor that it would lead you outside."  
  
Elrond glanced round, for the first time taking note of his surroundings. He was standing on the small slab path that led to the lower gardens, curtained all around with a steep climb of intertwining flowers.  
  
"For shame!" he murmured, half to himself, "I have strayed without myself realising it; strayed both with my feet and mind, it would seem."  
  
Concern now crossed Erestor's fair face. "Is all well with you, my lord?" he asked. Elrond sought to reassure him with a smile.  
  
"Indeed."  
  
The worry did not leave the perceptive elf. "Did my lord intend plans for today?" he said carefully " – I ask only while the sun still rides high in the sky."  
  
For a second Elrond merely frowned. Then he glanced up at the sky and drew back in shock.  
  
"Lo!" he exclaimed. "Is the day so far gone already?"  
  
The troubled face of Erestor lightened as he laughed in spite of himself. "Indeed Lord Elrond! The day is pressing on for noon and all others in your house are risen and have been for several hours." He then added with a laugh: "except the hobbits of course. The four new arrivals are as fond of sleep and rest as their friend."  
  
Elrond smiled fondly. "And of food," he said knowingly. "How is Bilbo? He is happier now, I think, that Frodo and his companions are among us."  
  
"Yes he is happy –as are his fellows. You have no worry there." Erestor's face became grave now as the laughter faded, and it seemed he was reaching the pinnacle of what he intended to ask. "My lord," he began. "I see you are troubled. A problem disclosed among friends is one lessened by half. Will you not tell me your concern?"  
  
Elrond sighed and turned away – though not out of unfriendliness. "Alas Erestor," he said wryly, "I see there is nothing I can keep from you."  
  
"I seek only to aid you in your duties, lord."  
  
"Of this I am aware, Erestor, and I thank you. Though it is against my better judgement – although why I know not –my heart yearns for a confidant in this matter, and so I will tell you. The chosen Fellowship is the root of my worry, and it is above all the Lady Mariel, upon which my doubt rests."  
  
Erestor gave a grim laugh. Elrond asked:  
  
"You are not surprised then?"  
  
"No," said Erestor," I had an expectancy that this might be the base of your trouble."  
  
"And the Lady?"  
  
"I too am wary, lord."  
  
"She hails from a land of which I have never heard, and yet she appears to have possession of clothes and crown which could only have been woven and wrought by an ancient skill –"  
  
" – Yet we are surely the only race with such knowledge," finished Erestor. "Suspicion, my lord, is also present in my mind. Sueth is a name new to me also. Care is needed."  
  
"Erestor, is it wise to allow this? Or is it mere folly to place so great a task upon one we know so little about?"  
  
Erestor sighed. "I can only say lord, that it can be no more folly than entrusting the One Ring to a hobbit bearer. I have faith in your judgement there –no other way would carry any more hope. Perhaps our hope will be burden enough for Mariel."  
  
"Perhaps."  
  
"Shall I call a council Lord Elrond?"  
  
"No, no. To make formalities of this will only awaken fear and doubt in others. There will be war, ere the end, Erestor. Let it not have its seed in my house, in friendship."  
  
"And the Lady Mariel?"  
  
Elrond paused awhile before replying.  
  
"Let her do as she will," he replied eventually. "I have a feeling she will make her own path, no matter. If she desires to join the Company then let it be so. I think she will go where she decides, whether I say or no."  
  
Erestor nodded, and together they left the sunlit place and passes out of the clear air and into the peaceful house. Yet they had not entered the second room when Glorfindel approached them, his face serious.  
  
"My lord," he said greeting Elrond before bowing his head to Erestor also, "these are suspicious times."  
  
"Tell us not what we know already, Glorfindel. What news has come to darken the day?"  
  
It looked beyond Glorfindel's wish to disclose his news.  
  
"It is the Lady Mariel," he said at length. "She is no longer here. The chambers have been searched and the whole of Rivendell scoured. She is no longer here."  
  
"She cannot merely have vanished," stammered Erestor.  
  
"Ill tidings, I fear," muttered Elrond, "and no better to us than those that hail from the South. When did she leave? We know that at least?"  
  
"Not quite so" replied Glorfindel, "although this remained on the pillow of her bed."  
  
He handed Elrond a fine slip of parchment and bade him read it. Upon it was a delicate hand, neat and straight as though written the Elven smiths themselves. It read:  
  
To the Lord Elrond, founder of Imladris. I am gone at present, though I shall return. Do not send for me, for I shall return ere the scouts do. Do not seek to send out the Fellowship in my absence, for I will find my own way to them, even if you do so. I beg your leave and thank your kindness. I pray that one day I might return it. I say once more, I shall return.  
  
Below this was a small mark – a tiny crown of three prongs, sliced across with a thin horizontal line. Above it were placed three small stars, parallel to the line. It took up less than a thumbnail. Erestor and Glorfindel watched Elrond, ready with advice.  
  
"My lord?"  
  
Elrond stared at the note for a long time. Eventually he spoke.  
  
"Let her do what she will," he said.  
  
* * *  
  
Many miles away, far across the northern terrain, someone was riding. The sun was close to setting here, holding out for as long as possible – seeming loath to sink beneath the skyline and fighting with the inevitable night. The land was pleasant and farmed in most places, tamed by the folk that lived there. This green land was the Shire, the very outskirts of the quiet land: the tilled fields and ploughed meadows fringed its borders. Most fields sat close to wild hills that rose out of the land with foreboding, stretching out and into the distance. This was where the neat life of the Shire folk ran onto to the dense wilderness of Arnor.  
  
A figure, clad in dark colours, sat atop a horse worthy of the Rohirrim. It was chestnut, if it could be called that, for the word seemed too common for such a noble beast. Its flanks shone with a film of perspiration as it raced on, pounding the earth underneath it as it had done for many leagues, untiring in the fading day. It bore its rider as though they were no more burden than the air around it and its dark eyes flamed with purpose.  
  
The figure in the saddle sat proud and upright, the gallop of the horse beneath them barely upsetting their posture. As they charged across the gentle slope of the land, weaving between trees and fields, the figure was leant forwards as though spurring their steed onwards. But as rider and horse left the outskirts and approached the road, open land became scarce and they were forced to a slower pace. The rider now drew back in the saddle, surveying the land whilst beneath them the horse walked on with restless impatience.  
  
Suddenly the rider's gaze moved to a point some hundred yards away. A small band of hobbits were coming along the road, singing merrily. They had not seen the tall horse and dark rider. Silently the rider gave a sharp tap to the beast's flanks and they moved soundlessly forward. The hobbits remained oblivious – it was now clear to the rider that there were five of them, all stocky and middle-aged. Their singing was loud, but it faltered into silence as a shadow fell over them. Stopping, they looked up and shrank back in fear. The rider was not surprised; a deep hood was cast over their face and next to the proportions of hobbits they were a sinister sight.  
  
"Good day," they said as they drew level with the small party. Their tone was pleasant enough, but there was something of an edge to it, threatening anger. "I seek the quickest route out to the Barrow Downs."  
  
The hobbits looked terrified and shook at the mention of the Downs. Wordlessly, the bravest of them pointed behind him.  
  
"Follow the road down to Michel Delving," he quavered. "Pass on through the woods and keep to the road that runs through it."  
  
The rider smiled beneath their cloak. "Thankyou," they said courteously. "Then I say good day again."  
  
And with that the rider struck the horse, which – bristling with impatience – leapt into a gallop almost in the blink of an eye and bore them both into the distance. The rider leaned into the saddle once more, intoxicated with the thrill of flight and grim with intent. Behind them, the hobbits hurried home, their singing muted and their voices hushed. The rider risked a smile, imagining the fear they had left in their wake, and thundered on down the road. Dusk deepened, and rider and horse sped on under cover of dark. 


	3. Many meetings

Author Note – sorry, I can't work out how to put the accents over letters, so I'm not ignorant of Tolkien's language, just of computer technology! Be kind, and please review. Dianor should have a stroke instead of a dot on the 'i', and Lorien should obviously have a stress over the 'o' : ( Cannot work damn computers!  
  
Chapter 3  
  
Mariel took a cautious step over the mossy earth and stopped abruptly, listening. She couldn't be sure that someone wasn't followed her. Much as she had faith in the honour of Elves, these were suspicious times full of strange occurrences: her coming to Rivendell not least so. She glanced around but saw only tall crowds of trees. But the air was alive: not with sound, but perhaps with the breath of another person. Mariel tightened her grip on the reins, and continued through the carpet of leaves.  
  
She had dismounted in the early hours of the morning – the dense foliage and the clustered trees too close to ride between with ease. Her horse, Finrodel, placed his hooves over the soft earth with apprehensive steps. As a beast of Sueth he had a sixth sense to the environment around him. He was pawing the ground anxiously, unwilling to move forwards.  
  
"Peace, Finrodel, peace," murmured Mariel soothingly, and reluctantly he allowed himself to be led on. "You feel something?" asked Mariel quietly, stroking his nose. "I feel it also. Something is afoot, yet I cannot tell what it is."  
  
The pair carried on, neither carrying confidence in the place around them.  
  
"It is a long time gone since I walked these paths," whispered Mariel, "long and neglected time. I can scarce remember that which I once knew so well. The land has changed, and I – remaining as I am – have forgotten it. Was this way the only one through when last I came here? I cannot remember; my memory deserts me."  
  
The horse whinnied apprehensively, and the noise shouted through the silence, quiet though it was. Two birds exploded out of the bushes nearby, and Finrodel started.  
  
"Peace!" cried Mariel, "peace, my friend!" she held his face to hers and cheek by cheek they moved on.  
  
Suddenly there was a commotion amongst the trees. More birds took flight and soared above, startled by the disturbance; animals shot out from the undergrowth and scattered – Mariel and Finrodel drew closer to one another. Seconds later, shape came bursting out from the trees and thundered towards them.  
  
It was an ominous sight. A dark horse, tall and fiery eyed, was leaping forwards with such power it was terrifying: astride it sat a hooded and cloaked figure, swathed in darkness and with such fearsome gaze that even from under the hood its authority beat down like the hot sun. Amazingly, Mariel seemed more relieved than frightened. She patted her horse and started across the forest floor as the terrible rider and its bearer slowed to a halt.  
  
The rider slipped its left foot from the stirrup, swung its leg over and dismounted. Walking over to Mariel, it met her halfway and for the first time in several days of travelling, threw back its hood. Mariel managed a smile.  
  
"Amdenia."  
  
The dark haired rider nodded in response.  
  
Mariel looked at her sister. She was worn with travelling, and slightly paler than usual, but her face still stood firm like a beautiful and terrible likeness of the High Elves of old. She was shorter than Mariel, and less fair, but there was no less beauty than that of all Sueth women. She had darker features and wore riding gear fashioned to her stature – fond of riding, she lived more in her riding gear than in the elegant dress of Elvish women. Behind her, her horse Aradstar snorted angrily.  
  
"I was growing worried, sister," said Amdenia coldly, "for I despaired that I would find you."  
  
"That is unlikely," replied Mariel; "you can ride like an arrow that knows its target even in darkness. I had despaired that I would come hence untraced, for the house of Elrond grows wary."  
  
"You are not followed," said Amdenia shortly, "since the sun was up I rode in your wake, and none were near me. Neither were they far. It is lucky, for had they been I would have shown them the true home for the arrows I carry on my back."  
  
"Sister you are too harsh," whispered Mariel, as ever intimidated by her sister's callousness. "They would do me no wrong."  
  
"You misjudge them then," corrected Amdenia. "They would not harm you, but there is wrong they would do – they would wrong all of us."  
  
Mariel fell silent. Once more, the responsibility of her own quest fell heavy upon her. "I had not forgotten," she muttered.  
  
"I did not think it was so, sister," said Amdenia unconvincingly. "But so much relies on you. Everything, we might say."  
  
"I had not forgotten," repeated Mariel.  
  
Amdenia returned to her horse. "You entered the council?" she asked, preparing to mount her horse.  
  
"Yes. The attempt is successful. I was wary at first, that –"  
  
"There is no time for that." Amdenia cut her short. "We must ride immediately. Dianor and Felren await, almost a day's ride from here. The sun is still rising onto noon; we can make it by nightfall. Haste, sister, lest they suspect your delay is something more than idle conversation. They know my tracking skills –"  
  
"And they suspect my treachery," finished Mariel bitterly. "Then let us ride – on to mistrust, with suspicion at my heels. Is there nowhere I can find content?"  
  
"Not before the end," said Amdenia, without pity. She leapt onto Aradstar and brought him round. "Keep close, sister. We are not the only people abroad."  
  
Mariel pulled Finrodel to her, and climbed into the saddle resignedly.  
  
"Let us ride," she repeated. Amdenia spurred Aradstar forwards, and Finrodel bore Mariel mutely in their wake.  
  
* * *  
  
The thick blanket of night had fallen before they drew close to the small camp where Felren and Dianor were. Suddenly, from out of the shadows, two figures sprang – so dark and quick it was as though they were shadows themselves.  
  
"Who rides?" demanded one fiercely. "Speak before I bade my friend litter you with his arrows."  
  
"And I am a good shot," warned the other gruffly.  
  
"That I do not deny," replied Amdenia tartly, "yet not so good as I when my bow is already drawn."  
  
The silhouettes relaxed visibly.  
  
"Amdenia!" they cried. "You return – and with your sister, I should hope, for otherwise my arrow shall find its way to you whether you have your bow drawn or no."  
  
"Sound not so eager Felren," replied Amdenia, unflinching at the threat. "I have brought both Mariel and Finrodel to me, with two days solid travelling, no less."  
  
The dark figures laughed, and each took the reins of a horse. "Such is your way," laughed Felren mirthlessly.  
  
"I see now the lady Mariel," said Dianor, half-mockingly as he handled her horse. "Please, my lady, allow me to relieve you from your tiresome road spent in the saddle."  
  
"Your offer is kind, but unnecessary," answered Mariel curtly: and ignoring his hand, she swung herself off her mount. "Though you might do well to show me a place to sit."  
  
"Indeed," said Dianor unpleasantly, and led Finrodel to a tree so that he might tie him fast.  
  
"Make not his bonds to tight," insisted Mariel, "he needs way to graze."  
  
"Indeed, my lady," replied Dianor, none too kindly. "Felren, stop that what you attend to! The steed of the lady Mariel must have a bed, and the finest straw to feed upon!"  
  
"Peace!" reprimanded Amdenia, seeing to her own horse, as Felren laughed darkly.  
  
"Only the best for our little spy," he said unctuously. "Bring them both to the fire."  
  
Amdenia and Mariel found themselves led to a small clearing, just ahead in the trees, yards from where they had stopped. The smothered ashes of a dead fire lay on the ground. Felren knelt down and rekindled them.  
  
"I must commend you for your swift riding, Amdenia," said Dianor, as sparks arose from under Felren's hands.  
  
"It is Aradstar, to whom you should present your compliments," Amdenia informed him.  
  
"I myself could not have the made the journey in any less time," said Felren, coming over from the now crackling fire. "Though Dianor and myself have in the past days done much travelling across this land. Strange things are abroad. The council is right to feel we have left this later than would be best."  
  
"In what way do you mean?" asked Mariel anxiously.  
  
"We are not the only ones at unrest it would seem," they told her. "Middle Earth is stirring. The One Ring is awake once more."  
  
"It would have been folly to attempt to seize it before now," said Amdenia calmly. "We can only work with the possibility given to us, now that the hour of action is imminent."  
  
Dianor nodded. "Change is upon us. Now we must act."  
  
He turned to Mariel.  
  
"That is your task."  
  
"This I know."  
  
"You entered the council without suspicion?"  
  
Mariel hesitated. "I entered, yes, and I was accepted to the company to which is assigned the ring, but to say it was all done without suspicion is beyond hope."  
  
Felren frowned at her. "You applied your skill? Your charm and grace and fair speech in the need of Sueth?"  
  
"I…tried," answered Mariel, "but it is a constant effort. Middle Earth has grown wise."  
  
"You are not to fail," warned Felren. "You fail, and we die or worse, survive for yet another fruitless age. But you will die certainly."  
  
Amdenia, surprisingly, intervened. "She will not fail. She has more skill in graceful deception than all the elves of Mirkwood and Lorien. Elrond himself did not suspect."  
  
"Galadriel is wiser," ventured Mariel.  
  
"And she will not suspect you," commanded Dianor. "Understand this, Mariel, for without you there is no one on whom we can rely."  
  
"She will not fail," said Amdenia again. Felren turned to her, and a rare smile was in his face.  
  
"We would have sent you, Amdenia," he said. "But we rely too heavily on your tracking."  
  
Amdenia smiled. Mariel had the urgent feeling that arrangements had be made in her absence.  
  
"What is your meaning?" she asked carefully. Felren turned grimly to her.  
  
"Your first obstacle is accomplished. But to ensure that you do not fail, or more so that you do not lead us astray, Amdenia shall follow you as requires."  
  
Mariel turned in horror to her sister. "Sister is this true?"  
  
Amdenia looked a little subdued. "Yes," she said quietly.  
  
"Then why do you send me?" cried Mariel in despair to Felren and Dianor, "when none trust me?"  
  
"Because you are the only one," said Dianor contemptuously. "Amdenia is not all. The council is also abroad, and will make their own way towards the south, with others. When the task is accomplished they will bring you back with them, so that you cannot remain with any…affections you may have compiled on the way. Others of our realm travel also. They are spread all over Middle Earth. Sueth is moving."  
  
Mariel stared in horror. "Then they have come across the sea also?" she said desperately. Felren nodded.  
  
"You did not think that we would place all our hopes one small woman, no matter how…charming she may be?"  
  
Mariel rose, disbelieving. "Already I am living a lie!" she cried, "and yet you make it further so!"  
  
"It is the only way," said Dianor firmly. "This is the need and command of Sueth. You would not deny your realm?"  
  
Mariel closed her eyes.  
  
"I will do my duty," she spat. "Though I hope it brings others more happiness than it has to me so far."  
  
Felren laughed coldly. "Do not fret," he said, "maybe before the end you will find your redemption."  
  
The other three rose. "Take your horses and ride out yonder," commanded Dianor, addressing Amdenia. "Three leagues to the West lies our camp. The council is gathered there also. We will abide here longer. Our business is not yet done."  
  
"Farewell, my lady!" jeered Felren, as the sisters mounted. Mariel turned defiantly.  
  
"Do not think I shall ever be in your debt, Felren," she warned. "Nor that I shall ever suffer to be in your service. I will better both of you ere the end."  
  
"Indeed," laughed their companions, and struck the horses, which cantered off into the distance.  
  
"Amdenia should sit in her place," said Felren, when they were out of sight.  
  
"Not so," replied Dianor. "Amdenia, unrivalled though she is, has not the elegant disguise of Mariel. Her sister is more like the elves of middle Earth than of Sueth. The contempt of our people is alive inside Amdenia. In time, her guise would be broken. Mariel, weak though she can be, has more skill to keep up an affection."  
  
"But the line between affections in the name of Sueth and affections of her own heart is slim. And will be crossed, ere the end, I deem."  
  
"Maybe so," replied Dianor. "But there Amdenia will play her part. With her behind Mariel, neither will succumb I feel. The bond of sisterhood is still there, incredulous though it may seem."  
  
"Very," exclaimed Felren. "I see nothing but hatred between them."  
  
"There is more," assured Dianor. "I see it. Amdenia may be branded with hate and coldness, as are the rest of our people, but there is love for Mariel. She would never betray her."  
  
"And neither Mariel her," agreed Felren. "And yet that could sway us either way. I begin to doubt even the heartless Amdenia."  
  
"Not heartless, friend, but dormant. She will address her love ere the end. And to observe the consequences, who other than you and I?"  
  
Felren now turned to his companion, amazed. "Us?" he repeated.  
  
"Indeed," replied Dianor. "I trust neither sister. Nor does the council. When they depart for the south, friend, we shall follow them. Not even Amdenia will suspect."  
  
Felren looked both pleased and apprehensive. "There is too much deception, Dianor. This cannot be good. I am reluctant."  
  
Dianor's face was alive with flame light. "Felren! The hero of Sueth shall be neither Amdenia nor her sister, but us! We shall triumph! The council and the sisters shall chase each other and end up tracking nothing but their own foolery, but we – we shall be glorious!"  
  
"Dianor, do you tell me that the council is not aware of your intent?"  
  
"I am barely aware of it! I merely know I will not have the bloodline of Sueth bestowed into the hands of those waifs! We – old, wise, noble, worthy – we shall triumph! Come!" he exclaimed. "We will ride this country out. Small villages lie around. We shall make enquiries and perhaps…other things. Bring the arrows."  
  
He gave a wicked smirk. A fire danced once more in Felren's eyes.  
  
"Take up your sword!" he said. "People shall be wary ere this night is gone!"  
  
"More than wary! They shall be terrified!"  
  
And laughing cruelly, the pair set off towards their own horses, and rode out to the East, charging on like the dawn was at their heels. 


	4. The Ring sets out

Chapter 4  
  
They had been nearly two months in the House of Elrond, and November had gone by with the last shreds of autumn, and December was passing, when the scouts began to return. They brought tidings from far afield; some venturing the great distance to Mirkwood, and others returning from the South. Yet none had travelled right down to the south, and followed the Anduin to its last. There war was arising, and the peril of the hour becoming apparent – there was it felt most greatly, and there it was that the Fellowship was headed.  
  
For his part, Elrond had not forgotten the last words of the Mariel, and neither had he forgotten his suspicion. But as he knew he could not, or would not prevent her departing with the Company, he began to hope vainly that she would not return to fulfil her promise. Days rolled into weeks, weeks became months, and no news came from Mariel; and although not satisfied, the mind of Elrond was comforted, for the moment.  
  
And so the day came for the Company to leave. There was, rather than sorrow, a sober realisation that sat heavy on all those assembled: Elrond amongst them. Talk and speculation was finally becoming reality. Bilbo waved goodbye to the hobbits and the Ranger, with whom he was close friends, and the pale silhouettes of the Fellowship – four small hobbits, two tall men, a dwarf, an elf and a wizard – eventually faded from sight and sound of those gathered by in Elrond's house. The hour was grave.  
  
But suddenly, out of the forest and into the pale morning light, a figure and horse came bolting out, breaking the silence and disturbing the quiet doubt. The figure astride the horse wore a sword at their hip: underneath their cloak their mail was bound tightly and a bag was slung across their back in the manner of a weatherworn traveller. They wore boots of thin but strong fibre and in addition to the long blade, a small dagger was fastened on the opposite side. The figure dismounted swiftly and leapt to the ground with light grace; the cloak flew back, and in a second the rider's garments underneath were revealed. Only then did Elrond realise it was a woman.  
  
Mariel stood there, proud and determined – silently forcefully as she had been at the council. She wore a rider's gear but her shirt was fashioned so that it hung a little below the belt, like a neat skirt. She bore her sword with apparent ease and her hands were bound with tight linen woven into a glove. There was no helm on her head, but the crown had vanished and her hair – once so long and boundless – was fastened back with no visible holding. She stood both elegant and threatening, determined in her task. She wore grey, and against the dim light of the early day her eyes sparked more than ever.  
  
For a while no one spoke. Then Elrond said.  
  
"Lady Mariel has returned. The Fellowship is complete." And he sounded none of the resentment and suspicion that was playing on his heart.  
  
"Forgive me," said Mariel, addressing them all. "I had not meant to delay nor discredit you. I have been travelling these past months, and it is nothing that I say against your fair house, Lord Elrond. I am grateful to still find my place in the Company."  
  
"Lady Mariel," said another, and turning Mariel saw that it was Aragorn. "I do not wish you ill, yet you ride a horse and the rest of us walk, and though we are pleased of your return we must hasten away while the day is still fresh. Do you bring your horse or not?"  
  
Mariel smiled. "I do not," she said. "And your feelings are not those of ill. I shall walk with you, for how unfair is it to bear myself on horseback whilst the rest bear themselves on foot? Finrodel shall remain here, if Lord Elrond will have him, and enjoy the gentle company of the Elves."  
  
"I will take him," replied Elrond. "Although he may be restless, while his Lady walks abroad."  
  
"He is faithful," agreed Mariel, "and will know if I am in need. I ask of you only that he should be allowed to walk free should he so choose; he will come if my situation requires it."  
  
Elrond bowed his head. "It shall be so."  
  
And so the Company – full now with the final member – began their long journey, across hills and mountains, rough and easy terrain and into a peril that none could imagine. Through the course of the days – forty days and forty nights, by Gandalf's reckoning – the Fellowship spoke freely to one another, Mariel among them. As the days lengthened and weeks dragged forwards, they began to settle with the other nine who accompanied them. Tales were told, and secrets disclosed – though none of desperate importance, and all of them a far cry than anything that might surprise Mariel. But still throughout the long days and rough nights, Mariel felt the dividing walls of preconceptions drop from around her Company members as they began to install more and more trust in her, and ever did she hope to hear of information that could be of use to the council – something to revive their faith in her. Yet none came. To the world around, the bearers of what Mariel guessed to be the greatest secrets, the grim ranger and the ill-tempered wizard, kept adamantly silent: and the journey proceeded without her even coming close to the confidence of Aragorn and Gandalf.  
  
There were others though, who lightened her heart from its grave and unspoken purpose. The small hobbits proved sturdier than expected, and of irreplaceable good humour. Of the youngest Mariel was especially fond – the mischievous hobbit Peregrin: subdued somewhat by the seriousness of the Quest and often reprimanded the older members of the group, but still with an unquenchable cheerfulness that could provide a light in dark times. With his friend Meriadoc they battled to bear in mind the responsibility of what they had undertaken, but it was not the nature of hobbits to be overly serious, and they couldn't help but jest, even when the road looked unending. Mariel looked at them and wondered if eternal life could really bring the happiness she saw in the Halflings. She pitied the Ring bearer, but perceived in him a much stronger heart than any of his companions. It was perhaps only to be rivalled by his friend, Samwise, who showed more and more each day the steadfast loyalty of true companionship. In her deepest heart, Mariel knew this would prove a problem before the end.  
  
There was one other whose company she especially enjoyed though. The other man, Boromir, the Heir of the Stewardship and proud with the knowledge of his bloodline. He was strong-willed, and resilient to the point of denying the desire that she could see burned inside him. She tried to ignore this, because it reminded her too greatly of the very same desire which branded her own treacherous heart.  
  
She was distant from the elf and from the dwarf also. Gimli she had little to say to, though she doubted his honour and loyalty not. But of the elf Legolas she was wary, for being millennia old herself she was surprised at how different their attitudes appeared. For her part she was weary and regretful of the decision of her forefathers, yet he seemed tireless and beautiful in his gratitude for the long life bestowed on him. Yet Mariel knew she should not be shocked. She was an elf of Sueth, and he of Middle earth, and the feelings of the two had never been one and the same, but rather opposed and conflicting. Sueth people were bitter, Mariel knew, and never had she felt it so in her own heart, than when she spoke to the tall fair elf of Mirkwood, and felt the natural grace of his temperament.  
  
And so they proceeded. Slow yet steady was their course, and hopes, though restrained, were higher than might be expected on such a hopeless mission. Yet Mariel knew that the way ahead would soon grow darker, weak though the details of Middle Earth were in her memory. She heard Gandalf and Aragorn speaking in undertones after dark, and whispering aside from the company in the hope that they might not dismay them. But still Mariel had overheard the name.  
  
Moria. That was the way if Caradhras was closed to them. She prayed it would not come to that.  
  
She told nothing of her doubts to the others, and for their part they remained silent or oblivious. Winter racked the wilderness, and the company proceeded into an ungovernable fate.  
  
* * *  
  
Leagues behind them, though not lost to their path, Amdenia rode fiercely. It was fortunate for Aradstar that he was bred by Sueth, and strong-willed to the extent of aggression. Amdenia's riding could drive a horse to death, and in her many years on the earth, many had fallen at her demands. She rode with the determination of Rohan, yet with none of their respect for the beast beneath her. Her consideration was to the speed and distance, nothing more.  
  
She rode now in fading daylight. She had found it essential to replenish her supplies at a small town, about a mile out from the road – she was aware of the barrenness before her, and knew of the scarcity of civilisation further out. She rode on behind the Fellowship with grim intent. She herself was lacking in faith of Mariel: not of her loyalty, because that was guaranteed no matter. But more so was she concerned of her sensitivity. She knew Mariel was surprisingly compassionate for people of their race. The only one, in fact. In Sueth there was no love, only bitterness for the curse of old bestowed forever on their realm and its people. A curse that could only be lifted by the quest the people of Sueth now undertook, as the armies massed in the south and the one ring set out.  
  
And yet they sent Mariel. Amdenia was not surprised. Mariel's grace and gentle temperament was the only deception that Sueth had to offer. None other could fool the wise immortals of Middle Earth. Mariel was more like an elf of Middle Earth herself than of Sueth.  
  
But despite her hard exterior, Amdenia was more sympathetic than appeared. She knew what it was to love. Aradstar strode forward with even greater speed as Amdenia now forced him on – tears in her eyes and aggression in her heels as she thought of the one she had loved. Aradstar snorted in pain: Amdenia was digging her feet so tightly into his flanks that her almost reared in shock. Amdenia was oblivious; trees sped by and the path spread out long before her, but she paid it no heed. Her thoughts were now far away.  
  
It had been long ago: so long it was almost lost to the depths of her memory. She was millennia old, but almost at her 3000th year before she realised she didn't know all that she had thought. Before then she had been vain and arrogant – drunk on the ecstasy of her own beauty that was hers by right of bloodline, and confident with her own knowledge. But she had grown restless of the confines of Sueth, and assumed herself wise enough to walk all the paths of Middle Earth. She had ventured further afield, and grown more obnoxious – dismissive with her own skill.  
  
Yet one time, travelling further east than ever before she had dared, she had met him. The one she had loved; the one she still loved. More than anything, with all the heart that she so desperately tried to conceal from all others. And somewhere in the vast possibilities of Middle Earth, he still dwelt. Somewhere he survived, probably remembering her, though maybe indifferent to the unbearable pain that tore across her heart –across the emotions that she swore she did not possess.  
  
And she still loved him. She remembered those wonderful hours with him, the precious years that had seemed to stop time itself. But now they were gone. With her better judgement, they were no longer possible.  
  
She resented her better judgement. Night fell gradually, and Aradstar bore away the tearful Amdenia. She had sworn to forget him, but she realised she could not forget. She could only ignore. And half a millennium of ignorance awoke inside her a desire stronger than ever before.  
  
* * *  
  
As Amdenia raced away, two figures charged behind. Their steeds were tireless, even to Aradstar, and in their wake they left chaos. They could not foresee the end, nor the thoughts of their prey. Yet they had good mind what it was, and what my sway it in their favour.  
  
They were ruthless and arrogant with the very same things that had always made Amdenia so much like one of their race in the beginning. They were cruel and mirthless, unless it was in the suffering of others, and although they were restless also, they restrained to keep a distance behind the two women they hunted.  
  
They were determined to succeed. The worst weapon that Sueth has to offer is its determination. Its people will never stop if they have will.  
  
Dianor and Felren had never been so intent as they were now.  
  
They rode swiftly on in the blackening night.  
  
Author note: now this is actually going somewhere, so don't lose faith, please!! I do know what's happening, and I think you'll like it if you like it so far, so please keep reading. Will try to get new chapter up as soon as poss. Oracle-x- 


	5. The path to Caradhras

Chapter 5  
  
The Fellowship was over a month out from Rivendell. Peril lay before them, whilst sanctuary lay behind; but for how long the haven of the elves would remain so, none could so. As they walked, they found more and more signs that the Enemy was aware of them, though it was becoming less clear who the spies were working for. If the suspicions of Aragorn and Gandalf were anything to go by, Saruman was no longer an ally, but yet another enemy – liberated from Sauron by his own arrogance and mustering up his own army to rival that of the Dark Lord. The hearts of the Fellowship, though they remained grim-faced or dismissive, were darkened, and as the South came closer and closer they became mute with silent anguish. The heart of Mariel, tired though it was and shameful at her lies, was nonetheless not shaken by fear.  
  
They walked onwards, Caradhras loomed closer, and the turmoil of the south became a strain on them with each passing day.  
  
The weather turned colder. Winds sprang all of a sudden from nowhere, and frost began to accumulate in the night, so that even Aragorn – hardened Ranger of the North – found it difficult to sleep and often took the place of younger members in the night watch. The land became stony and desolate: high moors climbed steeply from rough ground and footing was difficult to find. Ledges jutted out of the assent and sparse hedges whipped back and forth in the gale.  
  
They were approaching Caradhras.  
  
On the fourth day of the ascent came snow under foot. None fell from the sky and for this Mariel was glad, for she feared the hobbits would not have seen it through. Strong-willed though they were, it was a struggle with every step for them, and half way through the first day of reaching the mountain climb, Pippin and Merry had stopped altogether, unable to take another pace. Frodo, determined, had clambered on, but cold racked his frame, and he was shivering. Sam would never complain before his master, but he was terrified for Bill the pony, who stumbled awkwardly, flank-deep in the freezing blanket, hooves slipping uncontrollably on slabs of ice. Boromir laboured on as though he had not noticed the white carpet, but Mariel saw it to be a courageous front – as the others tended the hobbits Mariel caught him breathe heavily, and shiver with the frost: his round shield held over him like a cover. Gimli she had lost to sight; now she realised why dwarves made up for what they had not in height with build – any less of him and he would fared worse than the Halflings. Gandalf trudged on, loathe to admit defeat against the mountain lord, but he complained frequently in undertones; "why ever did the Valar send me in this old man's body?" he would mutter ever and anon, and only the acute ears of Mariel would hear him.  
  
Yet the Company held both wonder for the elf Legolas and herself. Both had less weight than a feather upon snow, but whilst Mariel fought to hide this to drive suspicion from herself, Legolas danced atop the snow like a gliding bird on the breeze – delicately, gracefully, but with purpose. As they battled on he leapt ahead, and stopped very suddenly, listening with an ear to the howling wind for what none but he could hear.  
  
Mariel heard it though. Saruman – his evil curses flung themselves across leagues of water and land, sailing towards the Misty Mountains with terrible intent.  
  
"There is a foul voice on the wind!" Legolas cried, as the others vainly tried to plough through chest high snow and sweep away the blizzard.  
  
"It's Saruman!" answered Gandalf. And casting his staff out of the trench, he clambered atop it and began a commanding chant to counteract the spell of Caradhras.  
  
"He's trying to bring down the mountain!" yelled another, and they looked to Gandalf in desperation. The ancient wizard was caught in a fearsome combat of will, and did not reply. He seemed for a second to have mastered the elements.  
  
Yet even as they thought this, a great noise jarred from above. Barely had they time to look up and see the terrible crack that ran from ledge to peak, before the immense load came crashing down and smothered them.  
  
"We must get off the mountain!" demanded Boromir, breaking with difficulty out of the snow and dragging Pippin and Sam to the surface. "We must make for the Gap of Rohan and head for my city!"  
  
"That way is closed to us!" shouted Aragorn, burdened with Merry.  
  
"Where is the Ringbearer?" cried Gandalf, struggling to them.  
  
Legolas scrambled to his feet and began a frantic search, but a cry cut him short.  
  
"I have him!" came a voice, and they all turned to see Mariel clutching a shivering Frodo to her in shelter. "He is safe. He still has the Ring."  
  
Her hair was falling around her shoulders with the violence of the weather, and her face was flushed, but she held Frodo out to them and helped him to his feet. The other hobbits embraced him briefly, panicked as they were by his absence, but the rest of the Fellowship stood staring at Mariel. It was Legolas who first spoke, such is the way with elves, to whom gracious speech comes most naturally.  
  
"Lady Mariel, I feel to you we owe not only our thanks but our apologies. I have not said it, nor voiced what was previously in my heart, but I doubted you. Now I see that I was wrong. Forgive me, for I was quick to suspicion and have maybe valued you less than you deserve. From now on you have my trust."  
  
He bowed briefly, though the forceful blow of the wind and the cascading snow made it almost comical. Yet there was nothing comical about his face when he stood up, and Mariel, knowledgeable as she was, saw an honesty in there so profound – the likes of which she had never yet witnessed, being of Sueth, and being cursed as they all were. She received his thanks graciously.  
  
"My forgiveness I offer you, if you will have it," she said, "and my trust also. For I never doubted you, Legolas, prince of Mirkwood. I felt only that my trust would not be your concern or value."  
  
"No indeed," he replied, though as he spoke, a strange look came over his face, as though he was puzzled by her. And his eyes seemed to look not at her face but behind it, as though he was trying to read her thoughts and decipher them. But she was drawn from his gaze by another.  
  
"My trust also, Lady Mariel," said Boromir. "Gondor is in your service."  
  
"And I in yours," replied she.  
  
"Whatever the Dunedain can do for you, lady, I shall act for them."  
  
"And Sueth for you, Aragorn son of Arathorn."  
  
Gandalf approached, looking strangely amused, despite the grave hour.  
  
"I am only an old man," he said wryly, "but my wisdom I can offer you, if you will have that."  
  
"Without fail I shall receive that which you will offer me, Mithrandir" she replied.  
  
"I speak for the dwarves," said Gimli. "Our trust is with you."  
  
Finally the hobbits came forward. "And the Shire also," said Frodo. "You have proved your loyalty to the Quest. Our trust is with Sueth."  
  
"You are kind," said Mariel gratefully, though it grieved her heart to hear their faith in her treacherous homeland. "We should now leave this evil place."  
  
"Alas, it was once not so," sighed Gandalf. "But evil spirits have made it so."  
  
"And so they have made a lot of things," said Legolas softly, but few besides the wizard and the Lady heard him.  
  
Subdued, they left Caradhras, and the wind cackled in their wake and seemed to the beaten Company to be mocking them. And none felt it so much as the loyal Mariel, fond as she was the Company and each member, and regretful at how much they had promised and how little they realised, bound in trust as they now were to her.  
  
* * *  
  
Dianor and Felren rode fiercely on in the bleak day. Suddenly, at a sign from Dianor, they pulled their horses to a halt, and forced them into stillness – they stood snorting angrily and tossing their heads with impatience. Dianor nodded to where Amdenia could be seen, riding out over the distance.  
  
"You still think so highly of her now, my friend?"  
  
"She is a remarkable woman, yet still weak," replied Felren.  
  
"They all are."  
  
"In various ways, yet none should be allowed to take the glory of Sueth."  
  
"None but us friend, we alone have been faithful – millennia though it has been. We will be rewarded for our troubles I deem, and govern Middle Earth for our own."  
  
Felren nodded. "When the throne of Gondor has been brought down and the One Ring restored. That is Mariel's task."  
  
"And that is why we ride," spat Dianor. "Onto Gondor and into war to cover the backs of two women, ono who has been installed to much faith."  
  
"Mariel is loyal."  
  
"To her heart alone. You think she will choose us? No, if she was faithful, the heirs of Gondor would be dead by now, and the ring returned to us."  
  
"Heirs?" repeated Felren, concerned. "I thought there was only one Heir to the line of Isildur."  
  
"And always shall be, friend – but another holds their heir to the stewardship, and he must also be dealt with."  
  
Felren looked troubled. "then we hope for Mariel to do even more! This shall not be accomplished: we shall fail!"  
  
"Peace!" laughed Dianor, "peace friend, there is hope. Do not worry," he assured. "Before the end you and I shall sit on thrones and no threat that Sueth cannot govern shall trouble us. And then," he cast a cruel glance behind him, to the place where the folk of Rivendell dwelt, "then we shall sample the true women of Middle Earth. The Elven ladies. They are with respect as well as beauty, I think."  
  
Felren joined him laughing, though a doubt still lay on his mind.  
  
"Where do the council ride?" he asked.  
  
"They will turn south."  
  
"Will they not suspect us, choosing our own path as we shall?"  
  
"We shall visit them, when two nights are gone. Tell them we tail an orc band or the suchlike, and will reunite in the south, beyond Rohan. It is justified, they will not want all their forces in one place."  
  
Felren nodded gravely. "Let it be so."  
  
Dianor laughed, and spurred on his horse, who leapt into a gallop. "It shall be!" he called. "It shall be!"  
  
Felren risked a doubtful cloud to darken his features momentarily, and then with effort it was dispelled, and he charged after Dianor.  
  
"To Rohan!" he exclaimed, and rode as fast as Doradfun would have him.  
  
* * *  
  
From a far off ridge, Amdenia watched the descent of the Fellowship with sinking heart. Fear rarely crossed that stone-like organ, yet now it was so as she turned her mind to the only way they could take. Moria. Never had she been beyond the entrance, and never did she wish it so, yet if she was to uphold her duty she must.  
  
Yet she knew, deep in her heart of hearts, that she couldn't. Just as she knew she loved him. It was like an incurable virus. She knew it was there, yet nothing could be done, and the knowledge of it made it no easier to bear. But she would not venture past the gates of Khazad-Dum.  
  
Beneath her, Aradstar snorted apprehensively. She pulled on the reins in anger; he had refused the snowy paths of Caradhras and would have had her proceed on foot before he walked under risk of avalanche. She was furious with him for attempting to throw her of – as a woman of Sueth she had none of the gentle command of beasts that Middle Earth elves possessed. She was harsh, and resentment was beginning to grow between horse and rider.  
  
She kicked him into motion, and slowly they traced the Company's descent as they turned their backs on the Redhorn gate. Caradhras had defeated them.  
  
But Amdenia knew what was in Mariel's heart.  
  
"What if all other ways are closed?" she muttered to herself. "What then Mariel? What will you do then?"  
  
She held back a wilful Aradstar and licked dry lips. Moria. That was her nemesis, yet not her sister's. Mariel's could place the entire Quest of Sueth in jeopardy if she fell victim to her fear. Courageous though she was determined to be, Mariel had places she would not enter, nor too any others from Sueth. It was at great risk to enter that place, and perhaps common sense more than fear governed Mariel.  
  
But the situation remained whatever. Mariel would have to choose her path after Moria. Not the dark, but the after light threatened her.  
  
It was not Moria, but Lothlorien, where Mariel's decision lay.  
  
  
  
Author's note: Now people believe me – She DOES NOT FALL FOR LEGOLAS!! Bear with me. She doesn't. Though there is a connection (ooooooohhhhh). Keep reading ! 


	6. Khazad-Dum

Chapter 6  
  
For a little while, the spirits of the Fellowship had been lifted as they clambered down the stony way of Caradhras, glad as they were to be leaving that perilous path. Yet those grateful feelings were soon quelled when they looked upon the alternative route.  
  
The Gate of Moria loomed before them like the will of Sauron given form, determined as he was to drive them back. The brilliant craftsmanship, wrought from Ithildin, was carved expertly into the wall of sheer rock face that rose above, smothering each heart with fear and doubt. Every eye was upon it as they descended the steep valley that fell at its feet, and leapt across the stagnant streams and tributaries that spluttered along the base. The moon, shining brightly, was released from behind the confines of a cloud and beamed down upon the ancient metal, lighting its face as no other element could.  
  
"Ithildin," explained Gandalf, as they drew closer. "It mirrors only starlight and moonlight."  
  
And indeed, as they came before it, the slithering veins of silver on its surface grew broader with the nightlight, and became thick belts of design that revealed several ancient images.  
  
"There are the emblems of Durin!" cried Gimli.  
  
"And there is the Tree of the High Elves!" said Legolas.  
  
"And the Star of the House of Feanor," said Gandalf.  
  
Beside them, something in the heart of Mariel was dampened, for she looked upon the great labours of Elven smiths long past, uniting the three races of Men, Elves and Dwarves, and as ever, Sueth found no place there.  
  
"What does it mean," asked Merry suddenly, "by 'speak friend and enter'?" And looking they saw that he recited the words that appeared in an arc across the door-head.  
  
"That is plain enough," said Gandalf. "If you are a friend, you speak the password, and the doors will open."  
  
"But what is the password?"  
  
Gandalf spoke no reply but drew back his sleeves, and pointing his staff like a sword before him, commanded the doors in a tongue that only Legolas and Mariel of the Elves, and Aragorn like an adopted member, could understand.  
  
Nothing happened. The doors stayed firmly shut, and to increase disappointment, no break between the doors was visible, and so to force them apart seemed even less of an option. Gandalf attempted another language. The reaction was as before. Five more attempts, and nothing changed.  
  
The Company sat down, ready to endure arduous hours of dwindling possibilities and the wizard's bad temper, which worsened with each failed try.  
  
* * *  
  
Amdenia tried to bar feeling from her heart, and respond only to her cruel nature, to which she was more inclined. Yet it was failing. Moria stood before, and duty to Sueth, yet she knew she would not go. She prayed that the Company would be forced to find another way, long as that might prove, but even as she thought it she knew it wouldn't occur. Mithrandir would no doubt solve the mystery of Khazad-Dum.  
  
How long she waited on the small ridge above the valley where her sister stood, she had no idea. The figures below her were too distant to depict, Elven though she was. She peered into the damp gloom, and was hit by another pang of remembrance. Perception of the eye had always been a source of jest between herself and the one she loved. Both Elven and keen-eyed, they had nonetheless sought to outdo the other in each of the senses. He had always beaten her for eyesight – he could have seen the tail feathers of a bird flying four leagues abroad.  
  
She shook herself and came back into reality. Hours were passing with slow but unstoppable steps. She leaned over the head of Aradstar, and fought to pierce the falling darkness with her own eyes. The Company had arisen, all crowding towards the Gate as though suddenly expecting something. A grey cloaked figure before it stepped back and as if following in his wake, the Doors of Moria began slowly to grind open.  
  
Gandalf had remembered the password. They would proceed into Moria.  
  
Amdenia would not follow them. Resentfully, shamefully, she pulled Aradstar about and started back the dim way she had come.  
  
* * *  
  
The doors began pull themselves ajar, and in each member of the Company began to awake a fresh feeling of despair, going into that dark place. Eventually the two stood fully open, and the first of the Company prepared to go inside. But just as they stepped over the terrible threshold, an anguished cry came from the back of the group.  
  
They whipped round, and saw Frodo slithering out of sight, dragged backward by one huge tentacle.  
  
Sam cried aloud, and sprang forwards, reaching for his sword – the other hobbits followed suit. Aragorn wasted no time in responding and Gimli wrenched an axe from his waist; Boromir raced beside Aragorn, Gandalf ran forwards, staff at the ready, and Legolas let fly a deadly arrow. It planted itself deep in its target, and the monster, crying in pain, reared up.  
  
It was huge. Tentacles flailed everywhere and in the centre yawned a gaping and razor-filled hole – it's mouth. Frodo, screaming, was being directed towards this, but the Company set against this. The two Men slashed at the slimy arms tirelessly, and the hobbits stabbed without thought.  
  
Mariel stood, rapt in horror for a second. And then a thought came to her.  
  
There would be no suspicion this time – this time no one would blame her. The monster had the Ringbearer, and if she let him be killed, the council would have to agree that at least the Ring had now been prevented from reaching Mount Doom. The Fellowship would fail, she would remain blameless, and the evil purpose of the Ring could be buried until another was foolish enough to attempt it and she was far away.  
  
For a second, the delicious possibility swam in front of her like the answer to all her troubles.  
  
Then to her ears once again came the sound of pain and terror. She opened her eyes. There was chaos.  
  
"Mariel!" screamed Legolas, leaping in front of her to aim another arrow, "why do you not help?"  
  
Speechless she stood, for less than a moment. Then she ripped out her long sword and hacked at a tentacle. "For the Company!" she cried, and continued to plough through the putrid and endless arms. Frodo was suddenly released as the arm the held him was severed by Aragorn; he fell to earth and into the ready arms of Boromir, who turned and ran into the open doors of Moria. The others followed, now terrified once again as fury passed. They charged in, and not a second too soon; behind them, the monster gave a cry of rage, and raised new arms against them, clawing and smashing at their sanctuary.  
  
The walls shook, the door gave way under the force of dozens of tentacles, it crashed into stone and rubble and the Company was left standing in absolute dark.  
  
There was no other way out.  
  
They would have to brave the long dark of Moria.  
  
A light glimmered from somewhere.  
  
"Follow my staff," aid Gandalf grimly, and with heavy hearts they began to trudge away.  
  
* * *  
  
Several leagues away, trees swayed with the dull winds in the dimness that had thrown itself upon the land. Here the flat plain dipped into a shallow basin, and in the centre of it, an irregular hill grew up as if in protest; the climb to the top was steep but short-lived, for the rise was stunted before it had barely gone twelve paces, and the underside dropped away into a thin strip of shelter, and it was here that the tall figures of Dianor and Felren stood restlessly in the mounting gloom. A small fire was smouldering into embers at the furthest point from the outside, and their horses stood close by, gathering what little heat they could from it, and regarding nervously the ill-tempered faces of their masters.  
  
"The council cannot yet be two days gone by," said one.  
  
"Patience!" snapped the other. "Should we set out now, our hopes could all be gone on the impatience of one foolish decision."  
  
"I said nothing," retorted the first, "except that the council cannot yet be departed by more than days. I merely wondered over it because we have nothing to judge it by. I suggested nothing."  
  
"Then I am sorry," replied the other, and he did not mean it, and this was plain.  
  
"What road shall we take when we do ride again?" said the first, at length.  
  
"Through Dunland," said his companion, "across the Fords of Isen and through the Gap of Rohan to the place where the Rohirrim abide."  
  
"Isengard is wary. War springs up everywhere, we may be seen as a threat."  
  
"We will be seen as nothing more than two lonesome travellers."  
  
"Of Elvenkind?"  
  
"Perhaps, but then we also know how to fight like Elvenkind."  
  
At this the first speaker fell silent, but his mind was still loud with defiance and mistrust. Eventually he could not restrain further speech.  
  
"What shall we gain by letting the council pass before us?" he asked.  
  
"Freedom," spoke the other, "the ability to do as we will, without our actions finding themselves monitored. Although we must remember that many of our kind is abroad, and it is not just the council that ride – though that is where the main threat lies."  
  
"How many days to remain here?" said the other desperately. "My legs beg to feel foreign soil!"  
  
"I remember not that your legs ever carried you," replied his companion dryly. "Rather that it was your poor horse. Three days we shall abide in this area."  
  
"Three days!" cried the first, and as if in protest, he strode towards the edge of the overhang, where faint glimmers of daylight were still struggling. His fellow traveller turned irritably to the fire, but presently there was a shout of dismay from the second figure, and he whipped round and ran to him.  
  
"What! What is it?"  
  
"There!" cried the other wildly, pointing to the dim shadows in the distance, where shapeless shades of grey merged into one impenetrable black.  
  
"What?" demanded his friend. "I see nothing!"  
  
"Amdenia!" hissed the first urgently; "she rides back!"  
  
Dianor peered into the depths of evening, and also drew back in panic. "Quickly!" he commanded, "put out the fire and prepare to ride."  
  
"She is barely a mile out!" protested Felren. "She will see us depart and even you have not a convincing alibi to support our case."  
  
"We will have even less chance if we remain here! She will ride straight past. Mount Doradfun and let us ride as quickly as possible! Night will cloak us!"  
  
Protesting, Felren stamped on the fire and scattered the ashes to dissuade her tracking skills. Snatching up his cloak he fastened it round his neck, and leapt onto Doradfun, spurring him out of the shelter. Underneath Dianor, Madraciun breathed almost soundlessly, aware of the urgency of the moment. Casting a look back, the two saw a shadowy figure just emerging from the black night, head down.  
  
"Now!" whispered Dianor. "We shall get no better chance."  
  
With barely more than a rustle, the two horses bore away their riders at unmatchable speed.  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
They had been three days in Moria, and Mariel knew that Gandalf mistrusted her. As he slowly led the Fellowship through deep and terrible tunnels which they could never have endured alone, he saw his glance rest minutely on her, with barely anymore suspicion than could be visibly noticed by a mortal. But Mariel saw it. She now knew that he had seen what was in her heart in the last attack, and knew that like the others, she longed to turn back – but unlike the others, she had been ready to let Frodo fall to his death. Mithrandir, she saw, had meant nothing of the words he spoke to her on the mountain; or he did, but now she realised he had been tactful in avoiding pledging unto her his trust, because in it he recognised the peril that no other had seen – not even fair Legolas.  
  
He knew and suspected too much. She could not allow herself to suffer both him and Galadriel in Lorien.  
  
He would have to die.  
  
Almost wordlessly they travelled the incessant gloom of the relics of an ancient time; forgotten ruins of a magnificent world that some would try to resurrect. On the fifth day, they found the great hall of Khazad-Dum – far beyond the wonder of all present: and they also found the tomb of one of Gimli's kinsmen.  
  
"They are dead then," said Frodo, casting a sad glance around at the skeletons that littered the floor. "I feared it was so."  
  
Gimli knelt tearfully by the tomb.  
  
"No," he wept, "it can't be."  
  
Catching sight of something, Gandalf passed his staff and hat to Peregrin, and eased a heavy book from the lifeless grasp of one of the dead.  
  
The last messages of the fallen dwarf were not joyful tidings to the weary ears of the Fellowship.  
  
"We cannot get out," he read. "We cannot get out. They have taken the Bridge and the second hall."  
  
"Their end is cruel," muttered Boromir pityingly.  
  
"Drums, drums in the deep." Gandalf paused awhile now, contemplating the last writings and wondering whether it was wise to disclose them to the fretful Company.  
  
"What does it say?" pressed Frodo.  
  
"We cannot get out," repeated Gandalf. "And…they are coming."  
  
He closed the book resolutely. Muted terror had fallen upon the Fellowship.  
  
"How…" began Aragorn, but he was forced into silence by a horrible noise.  
  
Wheeling round, the Company as one man, turned to the well by which Pippin stood. Next to him, the remains of a skeletal dwarf were clattering noisily to the foot of the shaft, which seemed a mile off. The sound jarred through the utter quiet and ripped horror across all their hearts. There was a bang (Pippin winced) a thud (another wince) and a final clang before silence once again.  
  
The Company exhaled.  
  
"Fool of a Took!" exclaimed Gandalf angrily, wrenching back his hat and staff from the quaking hobbit. "Throw yourself in next time and save us all the trouble!"  
  
Pippin looked downcast and dared not catch the eye of any, most of whom were glaring at him. Gandalf jammed the hat back on his head and began towards Legolas and the two Men, but a sound even worse than Pippin's foolish curiosity emitted from the depths of Moria.  
  
Footsteps, thousands of them, were crashing upwards and coming ever closer to their small room. Everyone froze. Mariel felt chilling apprehension such as she had never experienced, freeze her every bone. Each person had gone very pale.  
  
Gandalf sighed.  
  
"They are coming." 


	7. A View to a Death

Author note; hope you all like this! Becomes a bit confusing, mixing book and film, so it messes up a bit here – still! Never mind…  
  
Chapter 7  
  
Doom. Doom.  
  
The Fellowship stood rooted in terror. The orcs were stirring.  
  
"Bar the doors!" yelled Aragorn, and they sprang into action. Boromir leapt forwards, snatching up a rusty sword that lay dormant and sliding it across the doorframe. Aragorn did the same, sweeping up the strongest spears and swords in one armful, thrusting them in position. Fearfully, the others drew their own swords. Gimli leapt atop the tomb, wielding his axe, the remorse in his eyes now flaming with anger.  
  
"There is one dwarf in Moria who still draws breath!" he roared.  
  
The door crashed.  
  
Doom. The orcs smashed towards it. Doom. They charged it. Aragorn and Boromir ran back, readying themselves.  
  
"They have a cave troll," muttered Boromir. Gandalf cast aside his hat and drew forth Glamdring. Doom. Mariel unsheathed her own weapon. Doom.  
  
The second assault. The door swayed, straining. Doom.  
  
Harsh stamping and a terrible frenzy was brewing beyond the door. Doom.  
  
Third assault. Doom.  
  
The door buckled.  
  
Crash.  
  
They were through.  
  
Orcs swarmed in at uncountable rate as the great door flew into splinters in the dust. A violent eruption of shards sang through the air, exploding around the Company. They were hacking, thrusting, chopping, flaying. Left, right, left again. The quick feet of Mariel stepped nimbly aside and she brought her sword down hard on the unattended back of an orc. She swerved, dodged, leapt aside. Gimli had hewn the heads from several, barely with space between the strokes. Gandalf's blade sailed in a long arc – back, forwards, cutting them down where they stood. Boromir was ploughing through the infestation with no breath, chopping and slaying, tireless. Aragorn's noble blade moved to fast for the eye, sweeping across and back again stinging all those near.  
  
The push increased. Orcs, hundreds of them, ran in, on and on. The room was a violent crowd, soundless past the undying clang of shield on blade and blade on sword. Legolas loosed arrows, slaying many near the doors. The mob screamed, and somewhere in there, fighting with all the heart of any long experienced warrior in Middle Earth, the four Halflings were battling relentlessly. Mariel felled one orc where he stood, and glimpsed Sam.  
  
"Sam!" she shouted, but above the tireless stamp, no voice was distinguishable. Suddenly another, new noise sounded. Thud. They had a cave troll.  
  
"Get back!" yelled someone, as orcs and Fellowship alike threw themselves aside the hideous beast that now came slumping in, grotesque and brutish, killing the unfortunate orc by its chain with a single blow. It roared angrily. Mariel called again to Sam.  
  
"Sam! Come out of the way!" he was too close. The troll lifted his club – a great, effortless raise, and sent it crashing down. Sam leapt to the right, and missed it by a hair's breadth. He was too far across. Mariel could not hope to save him from where she was.  
  
Merry and Pippin had scrambled up to a high ledge; Frodo dived behind a thick pillar. The troll saw this, saw something to attack. He heaved his bulk through the chamber, crouched down, thrust in a putrid hand. Frodo skimmed round, dodging the eyes. Behind them, Aragorn slew through the tide of orcs. The chamber was emptying of the living. Dead orcs piled around. It was the Fellowship and the troll.  
  
Frodo dodged, but was forced to leap into the open as a massive hand crashed round the pillar. Exposed, he was powerless. Aragorn charged towards him, but a hefty blow sent him reeling to the ground. Sam dived towards his master. Too late. The troll, identifying its prey, lodged a long spear deep in Frodo's chest.  
  
Shouting, Merry and Pippin jumped onto his back, stabbing maniacally; Mariel sprang forwards with Gimli. Boromir roused Aragorn, who leapt to his feet, sword in hand.  
  
"Jump!" they cried; the hobbits could not. A spear was up his nose – he staggered back in pain. Legolas, placing a shot, drew his bowstring taut, sought out a target, and released the deadly shot.  
  
The troll let out an anguished cry, a deep bellow. It careered awkwardly around; the others skipped out of its path. It swayed violently. Merry was thrown off. It fell to its knees, and Mariel sliced at its thick body. Pippin wobbled near its head. One last, agonised moan, and it collapsed. Pippin was cast several feet. As one man, the Company ran to Frodo.  
  
Aragorn whipped him over. A miracle – he was breathing! His breath was sharp, and painful, but he was alive.  
  
"Mithril!" exclaimed Gimli, seeing the silver mail beneath the shirt. "A kingly gift. You are one of many surprises, master hobbit!"  
  
"No time for that," said Gandalf urgently. "We must make for the bridge of Khazad-Dum."  
  
Heaving Frodo up, Sam followed the others out of the chamber.  
  
"Run!" hissed Mariel.  
  
"I can manage!" gasped Frodo. Reluctantly, Sam saw to his own legs. They covered the magnificent slabs of the hall. Orcs writhed and twisted from every crack, seeping out and engulfing them like a virulent disease. They ran on, but the enemy was plentiful; they were cut off from the exit, trapped. Back to back, they clung together, determined to fight to the last but unseeing of how this could possibly end any other way. Orcs stabbed from a small perimeter, none seeming to want a close touch from the vengeful Company. They laughed and jeered, and found new roots for their courage, surging forwards suddenly, when –  
  
A silence befell the room. The orcs quavered, and shrank back. Flame illuminated the far doorway. Noisily, clattering ungainly, the orcs scurried away into black spaces.  
  
"What is it?" asked Pippin fearfully, unsure whether this escape was indeed that, or a worse evil than before. Gandalf sank onto his staff, and on him seemed to grow several more years in one moment.  
  
"A Balrog," he sighed. "What ill fate! Already I am weary."  
  
Then in an instant he spun round, and commanded them away.  
  
"Run!" he cried. "This is a foe beyond any of you!"  
  
Aragorn and Legolas looked set to argue, but Gandalf, as though reading their minds, demanded, "go!" and they turned and fled from the hall.  
  
They charged down steps. A bridge, split in the middle, crumbled under their feet. A rock dislodged from the roof and thundered down. The bridge shook, and with a horrible jar a huge bulk collapsed into the endless cavity below. Legolas sprang across; Boromir leapt without question, Merry and Pippin bundled at his side. Gandalf was across – Gimli would not go.  
  
"No one tosses a dwarf!" he bellowed, and jumped. He was short by about a foot. His feet found lodgement and his body leaned backward dangerously. Legolas grabbed at the beard and pulled him across.  
  
Sam was cast across. Only Aragorn and Frodo remained with Mariel.  
  
"Jump!" came the cry, but with another splitting crack, a vast boulder slammed down from above, tearing more of the bridge with it. The gap was too large, even for any elf. The small, unsupported section of the bridge wavered dangerously, the three figures on its top. "Jump!" They could not.  
  
The section began to rock unsteadily.  
  
"Lean forwards!" shouted Aragorn and Mariel, in unison. Hand on the others' shoulders, they and Frodo cast their weight forward all they dared, begging the steps to sail forwards. They wobbled uncertainly. Their legs shook beneath them. The stone under their feet, crumbling and looming out from peerless depths, swayed terribly. They leaned forwards.  
  
Their weight swung in their favour. The stone crashed into its brother, and reunited with a path, the three scrambled down to join the others. The Fellowship fled, and Mariel, running behind them, felt an evil idea nudging aside her compassionate dedication to the friends.  
  
They ran. Arrows whistled behind them, impaling mail shirts and spearing through Gandalf's hat. The bridge was visible.  
  
On through a slim archway they ran, and faltered momentarily, whilst their eyes took in the sight before them. A black chasm lay across the length of the room, the only means of crossing a slender bridge that ran from one side to the other.  
  
"Over!" cried Aragorn without hesitation, bringing up the rear. He spurred them on. Gandalf counted them all past. They ran the thin length, charging with the hope of seeing daylight once more. But a cry emerged that wasn't drawn by orcs.  
  
"Ai! Ai!" wailed Legolas. "The Balrog is come!"  
  
They turned. It was a horrendous sight. Fire came from its nostrils; it stood tall and menacing, flaming and threatening. Glamdring gleamed white and cold. Gandalf stood strong against his enemy.  
  
"I am a servant of the secret fire, wielder of the flame of Anor. You cannot pass."  
  
The Balrog screamed a horrible cry. It chilled the bones of all present. Gandalf remained, undaunted.  
  
"You cannot pass."  
  
The Balrog reared in anger, took a step over the bridge. A bright light shone round the old wizard.  
  
"You shall not pass!"  
  
The Balrog charged forwards. There was a commotion. Aragorn surged forwards.  
  
"Elendil!" he cried. "I am with you Gandalf!" and he leapt forwards, Boromir at his heels.  
  
"Gondor!" cried the warrior.  
  
"For Sueth," muttered Mariel bitterly, and stepped after them.  
  
"Lady!" hissed Legolas, but she cast him aside.  
  
"I will not let him fall to the Balrog!" she shouted. It was true – not to the Balrog would Gandalf lose his life. She leapt upon the bridge, which groaned and cracked under Gandalf's staff.  
  
"You shall not pass!" he commanded, one last, final time.  
  
The bridge broke. The staff shattered. The old wizard, for a second so grand, turned his back on the screaming demon, falling into the abyss.  
  
Aragorn and Boromir were close; they had almost reached him. They barred the bridge. Mariel could not reach past. The two men ran to greet him, gladness in their faces. Unseen by anyone else, Mariel regarded the long flaming whip as it coiled upwards and sought its prey.  
  
She could have shouted. He would have made it across. The others had not seen. In front of her, two men and a wizard, unwary, unknowing: behind them, four Halflings, their focus not on the floor but their friend, as with Gimli. But Legolas. Legolas may have seen.  
  
He may have seen the whip as it shot upwards, and in a last act of vengeance, crawl around the foot of its attacker. He may have seen the others, unwarned by Mariel, who stood staring upon Gandalf's imminent face with no compassion in her face. He may have seen her focus all her mind on sending Gandalf off that terrible edge.  
  
He slipped. He crashed to the ground, and slid to the edge, hanging there.  
  
Aragorn gave a cry and ran to him, but something he could explain held him back. Almost as though a will not of his body was restraining him. Boromir felt it too.  
  
"Gandalf!" he bellowed, but the wizard was all but lost.  
  
For a moment, movement was suspended by the unthinkable. Then Gandalf, stirring the last of his spent strength, cried out.  
  
"Fly, you fools," he called, and was gone.  
  
They stood stunned. Frodo screamed in anguish. The other three fought against the taller members, ready to cast themselves down after him.  
  
"Come on!" Mariel roused them. Aragorn and Boromir felt the will lift. They forced themselves to move. Each took a hobbit under either arm, wriggling in agonised protest; they were all crying. Gimli stumbled away up the steps, Legolas checked the Company.  
  
"Mariel!" he called, and a steely tone was in his voice. "Away! He is gone!"  
  
They ran up the stairway, weeping with bitter tears they couldn't restrain; only the steadfast faces of Legolas and Mariel were clear. Even Aragorn suffered tears. They stumbled on, orcs screaming at their heels, arrows hissing behind them. They stumbled out of the dark, and came at last to the cold white light of the anticipated day. 


End file.
